


Inside the Manor

by Harpalyke



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Anal creampie, Bathing/Washing, Captivity, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face Slapping, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpalyke/pseuds/Harpalyke
Summary: The peasants working on Lord Harman’s estate serve as tools for him. Or, as Ariane finds out upon breaking into his manor, toys for him.
Relationships: Wealthy Amoral Nobleman/Pretty Thief Caught Breaking Into His Mansion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 88
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Inside the Manor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



When Ariane opened her eyes, she found herself tied to a chair in a large, empty room in what appeared to be the basement of the manor. Like the manor itself, it was clean and dim but absent of the wooden furniture, textured wallpaper, and gold embellishments. Under her bare, dirt-caked feet was stone. 

_ What happened?  _ She tried to recall the events leading up to this odd predicament: promising her brothers she’d get the jewels, creeping through the tall grass toward the manor, a black mass atop the hill with one large, bright square—windows of the parlor where Lord Calvin Harman sat on a wing-backed armchair, glass of bourbon in hand. Ariane knew he’d be there after a week of spying along this same path, of planning. Tonight had been no different: his silhouette in the chair, his frowning face just visible next to the edge of the curtain, so Ariane had veered toward the other side of the house...ducking through the back garden...and then what? She couldn’t remember. 

Closing her eyes, she conjured the details of the scene, but it cut out just as she reached the kitchen window. Who had caught her? Where was Harman or one of his household staff? Too many questions with no answers. And too much  _ thinking. _ Her head hurt. The memories turned fuzzy. The basement blurred in front of her eyes before they closed, her chin meeting her chest… 

* * *

Footsteps. Ariane lifted her aching head, swallowing spit that had long dried up. Someone was approaching, a tall, blurred figure. Bound behind her back, her hands twitched, wishing to rub her eyes. Finally, she could see, though tiny white spots lingered on the edges of her vision. 

It was Lord Harman, quite out of place in his sleek black suit contrasting perfectly with his ruffled blouse and every strand of his black hair combed into submission. Ariane had never seen him smile or soften his expression, and she suspected he surely wouldn’t now. 

He stopped about a foot away, looking down his wrinkled nose at her. Ariane flushed and lowered her eyes to his polished loafers, knowing it was she who was out of place. It had been a bit since she’d washed either herself or her dress. She was always the last to use the wash basin since she was the youngest, so the water was usually brown as dirt by the time it was her turn. Her braid had somehow come undone, her long, limp blonde hair matted to her head and shoulders. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

Ariane stayed silent, not wanting to get her family banished from the land. If she simply took whatever punishment he had in mind, perhaps he’d let her go, and her parents would be none the wiser. 

“Answer me.” 

When she didn’t, a sharp slap hit her cheek, whipping her head to the side. “Filthy little peasant bitch,” he spat. “I asked you what you’re doing here.” 

“I-I don’t know, sir,” Ariane stammered, chancing a glance up at him just in time to see his hand lift again. No amount of steeling herself against the next slap alleviated the sting. She yelped, eyes brimming with tears. 

“Please, sir, please let me go,” she whimpered, letting them fall down her throbbing cheeks. 

“Let you go?” He smiled, and despite the rows of straight, white teeth on an overall handsome face, there was nothing pleasant about it. In fact, when before Ariane had been embarrassed and confused, now a bolt of pure fear shot through her chest and stomach. 

“Do you really think I’d let you go just because you asked me? You’d have better luck just keeping that pretty mouth shut.” 

He turned away and walked out without a backward glance. Ariane considered calling him back and pleading some more, but what was the point? He’d already made it clear he had some sort of punishment planned for her. Then when would he exact it and, more importantly, _how_?

* * *

Ariane expected to sit in the basement alone for the rest of the night, but not even an hour after Lord Harman left, a stout lady clad in an apron and bonnet appeared with a short knife clutched in her pudgy hand. Ariane immediately started to wheeze, praying to God for her spot in heaven, which was cut sharply off when the ropes around her loosened and fell away. 

“Come on.” The lady, presumably a servant, clasped her upper arm and hauled her toward the exit. For the first few steps, Ariane stumbled forward on numb, wobbly legs, but thankfully, they were steady by the time they climbed the stairs leading to the main floor. 

The deep green walls of the corridor extending from the foyer to another stairwell were lined with the noble Harman family ancestors, each one with a haughtier expression than the previous. After the last of the line, Calvin, there hung a painting of a sea so vividly blue, Ariane wished she could close her eyes and sink into it, the salt water flushing all her woes away. 

What waited for her in a large washroom on the second floor was not so different: a porcelain bathtub was filled with soapy water, steam hovering invitingly over the surface. The washroom itself was nearly three times the size of her entire house and, of course, much cleaner. 

The servant pulled her toward the bathtub, tugging on her dress. Ariane was too entranced by the surroundings to grasp what she was supposed to do until the cotton tore down the middle, leaving her lithe body on display. 

“A bit slow, aren’t you?” the servant sighed, rolling her eyes. “Take it off and get into the tub already.”

Ariane did not have to be told twice. The sensation of warm, clean water enveloping her body was wondrous, rivaled only by her grandmother gently combing her hair before braiding it. She felt herself relaxing, melting, and almost becoming the warm water. Perhaps she’d died and gone to heaven. 

The thud of the door startled her out of the warm haze. She looked around and saw that the servant had been replaced with Lord Harman, still in his suit with his stiff hair and expression of contempt. 

Feeling her cheeks grow hot, Ariane folded her long legs and wrapped her arms around her knees. Fortunately, her long hair was sprawled out under the water, providing some cover to her bare skin. Unfortunately, her mind couldn’t seem to come up with anything other than, “Why are you in here?” 

He raised his eyebrows, affronted. “This is my house, you cheeky little brat. Apologize for your rudeness or I’ll drag you out the door by your hair.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said quickly. 

He didn’t respond, taking off his coat and draping it neatly over the chair in front of the vanity. She imagined him sitting in that chair every morning, watching the servant press his collar and comb back his hair and whatever other grooming ritual noblemen do to look polished at all times. The watch, the one she’d promised her brother, was unhooked and set upon the vanity table. She briefly considered how she could snatch it, but now he was rolling up his sleeves and this was not good. 

“You are filthy,” he sneered. “Clean yourself up. Start with your hair.” 

Ariane grasped the bar of soap and dropped it when a loud  _ tsk _ reached her ears. “Stupid peasant girl. That’s for your body.  _ This _ is for your hair.” He pointed to a small glass bottle. 

She poured out something she’d never seen before in her life. It smelled fresh like soap, but it was thick like phlegm, except pearly white. Feeling rather foolish, she ducked and smeared it over her scalp like she would a bar of soap. After a few hesitant scrubs, she got lost in the pleasantness of loosening caked-in earth and oil from her hair. 

Until he took her elbow and jerked her upright. “Back straight.” 

This wasn’t so comfortable, not the position but raising her arms and exposing her small, pert breasts to him. He didn’t comment, watching her as she rinsed her hair and cleaned her face with the soap bar. 

When Ariane lowered her hand, about to rub it across her chest, he snatched it away and roughly did it for her. He was so close, too close, his bourbon-scented breath against her ear. “Stay still and let me do the rest.” 

His hands, absent of soap, traveled over her breasts, cupping them and pinching her nipples before sliding down her narrow torso. She fought hard not to squirm away, blushing so deep he could surely feel the heat from her cheeks. Sitting in the cleanest water she’d ever seen, she’d never felt so dirty. 

“Please,” she whispered. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want it,” Lord Harman growled in her ear. “Like those big eyes haven’t been begging for it.” 

A hand gripped the hair at the back of her head, twisting it painfully from her scalp, while the other snaked between her thighs, grazing her most private spot. 

“No, please don’t, I don’t—” 

“Shut up.” His wet hand smacked her mouth, leaving her lips puffy and smarting. In the same second, it was back on her folds, sliding over the delicate flesh. “Never been touched like this, have you?” 

Ariane shook her head, biting her quivering lower lip. Tears collected at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall. The way he was rubbing her made her feel disgusting but also something else, not altogether horrible. She didn’t  _ like _ this, no, of course she didn’t…

He slid his fingers deeper, into her, stretching and invading the part of her she was saving for her husband. She’d heard many stories of noblemen just taking whatever caught their fancy, but this was too much. “Please stop,” she cried, hoping he’s slap her again, because at least he would be out of  _ there, _ out of her. 

But he did not. Instead, Lord Harman tightened his hold on Ariane’s hair and plunged his fingers in further. Then out ever so slightly, giving her hope that they were withdrawing, until they were back in again. Then out, in, out, and _ no, _ she did not like this. She tried to fight him off, but he had her from both ends. 

“That’s it, little slut, pretend you don’t enjoy having your cunt filled,” he taunted in contrast to the fury beaming out of his narrowed eyes and into hers. 

Ariane screwed up her face, trying to ward off the furious glare and a tension that felt so good, it was almost unbearable. “No, oh, God, no…” 

Everything went white, her heart thumping in her ears and a strange fluid, thicker than the water but not like the hair soap, was slicking up her inner thighs. Gasping for breath, she clasped the edge of the bathtub with trembling hands and pulled herself upright. Meanwhile, Lord Harman combed a stray lock of hair back into place as if he was preparing for another lounge in the parlor. 

She couldn’t help but stare at him as he left the washroom. What had he  _ done _ to her? Something bad and shameful, she knew, and a little painful but not horrible. Regardless, her punishment was likely complete, and soon she’d be released from this strange, unnerving place. Leaning back against the cool porcelain, she cupped her sore mound and let out a heavy sigh. 

* * *

Ariane had been wrong. Her punishment was not over. She’d been taken back to the basement and re-tied to the chair, and now here she sat in this uncomfortable position. Her stomach growled and her damp hair, though sleek and light, absorbed the relentless cold from the air and stone. 

The servant had given her a dress fresh from the seamstress from what it felt like. It did not do much to keep out the cold, but the soft linen caressed her skin. If she was honest, Ariane felt  _ pretty,  _ but what use was it, tied to a chair in a windowless room? When it only made a man hurt her? 

It seemed like hours upon hours passed before the servant arrived with a plate of food. With that short knife held to Ariane’s neck, the servant let her sink to the floor, where she scooped up peas with her hands and gnawed on chicken legs like a starved animal. The food was warm in her belly, a layer of protection against the cold. 

As the servant tied her back up, Ariane tried to make eye contact with her, to plead with her, but the woman kept her face firmly turned away. Maybe next time, Ariane told herself as her chin dropped to her chest, footsteps faded away, and finally, sleep took over. 

* * *

The next bath was given in a couple hours or a couple days—telling time was difficult in a room that never saw daylight. Ariane sat in the bathtub waiting for Lord Harman, thinking of ways to fight him off. Soon it became apparent he wouldn’t show up, so she finally enjoyed the warmth and the feel of clean. She wondered, if not for Lord Harman to humiliate her, why she was in there. Then it occurred to her that with washrooms like this, the nobility likely bathed far more often than peasants. 

What a waste, she thought as she climbed out of the tub. The nobility didn’t even work in the fields, didn’t climb into beds soaked with dirt and sweat from their siblings. For what did they need so many baths? For the same reason why Lord Harman had stuffed her with his fingers and abused her. Because he  _ could.  _

Wrapped in a fresh dress, Ariane followed the servant out of the warm room, assuming they were going back to the basement, where she would shiver herself into sleep or in the land of daydreams. However, the servant turned and walked the other way. Ariane stood in the corridor, confused, before the servant waved an impatient hand, beckoning her forward. “Come on already.” 

They descended the stairwell and passed a large, unoccupied library. Ariane briefly considered slipping into it and escaping somehow, ultimately ruling it out. Not only would it have been futile, since Lord Harman could just come to her house and snatch her back, but she was also curious about where she was going. 

Their destination turned out ot be the parlor she’d peered into so many nights. He was seated in his usual winged-back armchair, the usual glass of bourbon in his hand like every night she’d spied on him. Except now she was on the inside, and he was waiting for her. 

“Thank you, Olga,” he said. “You are dismissed for the night.” 

The servant nodded and turned to leave. Ariane watched her, her mind stuck on this new bit of information.  _ Olga. _ The lady was also a peasant, and yet Lord Harman seemed to regard her much more highly than Ariane, “the little peasant bitch.” 

“What a pretty little thing you are,” he said as if she were a small animal. There was something insidious in his tone, like he was the type to enjoy kicking small animals. “Come here.” 

Ariane took a step forward, but he held up a hand. “On your hands and knees.” 

What could be more humiliating? At least the floor was clean. Slowly, she ambled over to him, stopping when those aggravatingly shiny loafers came into view. Their scent, new leather, filled her nose. “I want to go home,” she told them. 

He slapped her in response, causing her to cry out. “Did I tell you to speak? Turn around.” 

She did as told, facing him with her bum. At once, his greedy hands were on it, groping and yanking up the hem of her dress. The panties were torn clean off, and she had to wonder what the point of giving them to her was. Then, when he gripped her ass cheeks and spread them, her most private parts served up to him, she understood. The clothes, though they were on her, were not hers. They were his. She was his. 

_ No. _ Yet when he ran a finger down the crevice, lighting up places that sent tiny shocks up her spine, her back arched and a soft, wanton sigh escaped her lips. 

“Ah, I see I’ve made a little whore out of you,” he snickered, giving her ass a spank. Ariane willed herself to crawl away, but neither her hands nor her knees would move. 

Until he held her hips and filled her with something much larger than a finger. “No!” she cried, wincing and squirming. Unsurprisingly, this went ignored as he thrust all the way in, stretching and awakening more places deep inside her tight grip. 

“No,” Ariane repeated, earning her another slap to her rear. Soon he was pummeling her with his cock, rubbing those tender spots deep inside.  _ No, I don’t like it, _ but at this point she was lying to herself, for her body took him eagerly, screaming  _ more, more! _ A fist wrapped around her long hair, pulling her head back, another slap… Too much stimulation; surely all of the fibers that made up her being would snap… And then they did, or so it seemed, turning her into a limp, tangled mess on the floor. 

“Get up and clean up your mess,” Lord Harman commanded, tugging her upright by the hair. She had no idea to what mess he was referring—presumably the wet one splattered across her inner thighs. A tentative swipe as she turned herself around resulted in hot, clear fluid on her fingertips. 

The same fluid was dripping from his stiff cock, which he held at the base, towering over her. “Lick it off, that’s it.” 

It didn’t taste awful: salty and tangy and a bit sweet. His cock, Ariane found when she took it in her mouth, tasted like nothing but skin. Her mouth didn’t stretch and grow sore like between her legs, but it was hard to breathe when he stuffed it all the way down her throat. 

After a minute, he pulled out, pushing her away and sitting on the chair, his cock alive and pointed at her face. She wished he would put that damn thing away already. 

“You think I’m finished with you? Oh no, my dear. Tonight I will use this tight body until I can no longer move. Sit on my lap.” 

When she climbed to her feet, he spun her around again and lowered her onto his cock. It broke its way in between not her puffy folds but her ass cheeks, entering her in the filthiest and most painful way possible. 

“No, oh, God, no!” Ariane bawled, tears she barely felt pouring from her squeezed-shut eyes. “Please stop, I can’t take it!” 

“You can and you will,” he breathed onto her back, parting her thighs and propping up her legs so he could go deeper in. This was  _ horrible, _ like being split into two; any moment the halves of her would fall to the floor. Worse yet, they were in front of the windows, through which anyone in the fields could look and see her atop Lord Harman, her  _ cunt _ out in the open and her ass filled with his cock. The pain took over, shutting off her mind and unleashing gutteral howls from her aching throat. It could’ve been only seconds, but it felt like an eternity passed before more hot fluid, his this time, was spurting out of her and he let go. She flopped to the floor, crying, and curled up into a ball. 

“Still want to go home?” he asked, nudging her with that awful, smelly loafer. “I can escort you right now—I’d love to see the look on your father’s face when he sees my come dripping out of your used hole and down your legs.”

Ariane could only weep. 

* * *

In the end, he did not take her home. Back to the basement she went, except now equipped with a blanket, a reward for  _ taking it like a slut. _ Ariane had never loved and loathed something at the same time with so much intensity, especially not a piece of wool. For now, it kept her warm and snug, two things she really needed. 

Forseeing a stretch of boredom and misery, she began to plan. The original plan, so long ago, was to sneak into his bedroom and seize the sack of jewels he allegedly kept in there, according to a former servant, plus the gleaming watch currently on his wrist. Ariane would still carry it out. She would take all the jewels and escape, a nice  _ fuck you, _ no matter what other “uses” he had for her. 

Perhaps she would be caught multiple times and punished more severely. Perhaps it would be a long time before her plan would come to fruition. But eventually, she swore to herself, it would. 


End file.
